


Poor Life Choices

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, dubious consent due to being drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 10:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13006170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: It starts with a fight and a mandatory getting to know you pint. It ends with a fight and a mandatory toast.





	Poor Life Choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JET_Playin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/gifts).



> Jack, I don't know how you got me to write this, but here I am. And here is it.

It started with a fight.

It was in training. Some idiot had decided it was a good idea to put Potter and Malfoy together and it had taken all of five minutes before the first curse was flying. Just some silly little stinging hex that hit Malfoy on the back and had him yelping like a seal. It wasn’t long after that, the cauldron they were standing next to “accidentally” tipped, spilling the potion they were working on all over Harry.

The shouting had been sudden and loud, hexes flying through the air, other trainee Aurors scampering out of the way as Potter and Malfoy darted around the room. They were always very good at duelling each other.

It was only supposed to be a simple forensics lesson.

*****

“I hate you,” he snips as Potter slams the pint onto the table in front of him. Potter glares, his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth together, his stupid green eyes swirling dangerously.

“You know, Malfoy, most people say ‘thank you’ when someone buys them a pint,” he spits unattractively. Draco raises an eyebrow at him, picking up the pint and taking a long sip, keeping eye contact with him. Potter growls, a deep, quiet growl, but flops down onto the chair opposite Draco. Fuck knows why they’re here. Every witch or wizard in the wizarding world knows that they’re never going to get along. Trainer Malloy should be fired for pairing them together. 

Potter glares at his from the other side of the sticky table and he stares right back. This isn’t going to be another one of those situations where Potter wins. The fucking bastard. Draco hates him. Really, truly hates him. Sure, he was decent enough to help Draco keep out of Azkaban, but he’s still a self-righteous dick.

Long moments pass with them scowling at each other, Draco slowly sipping at the pint in front of him, Potter downing his far too quickly and then pointedly giving it a little shake. At some point that Abbott girl from school appears by their side, sighing, and place two more pints down on their table. Potter turns and gives her a smile of thanks, and Draco smirks to himself. Yes. He’s the winner.

“So, we should probably talk,” Potter says, finally, and Draco raises his eyebrow again, snarling slightly. They don’t need to fucking talk. The need to stay the fuck away from each other. He rolls his eyes, leaning forward a little and looking up at Draco through thick eyelashes. Of course he has thick eyelashes. Prick. “Look. I know we’ve never got on—”

“Understatement.”

“Whatever. We’re going to have to work together. Clearly. So maybe we need to get past… whatever this is.” He sounds like he thinks he’s being reasonable. Draco hates him. Not least because he’s probably right. Aurors often go out as a whole team, not just with their partners, so even if someone with more brains than Malloy puts them with different partners, they’d still have to communicate sometimes. 

“Planning on spilling all your sordid little secrets to me, are you?” He forces himself not to lean closer to Potter. Mainly because that would mean putting his elbows on this disgusting table, but also because then he’d be closer to Potter. There are some battles that he doesn’t need to win.

“No!” Potter splutters and Draco’s chest puffs in pride. “I just— I thought— fuck, Malfoy! There has to be something we can talk about that’s not going to start a fight.” 

Draco taps a long finger against his chin. He likes his fingers. They’re elegant. Maybe a little boney, but he can do all sorts of fine magic with how dexterous he is. Potter’s eyes are on his finger, and he smirks, enjoying the ugly blush that rises up his cheeks.

“I’m not sure Potter. I fear there are more things we can’t talk about.” He makes sure his words come out clear, cutting, obvious. He doesn’t have to glance at the scar on Potter’s forehead, or on his left forearm where the Mark has faded to a large white mess. Surely Potter isn’t that oblivious. Draco watches with relish as Potter’s eyes dart to his arm before coming back to stare at his face. The blush is now covering his whole face. He looks like a tomato.

“Yeah… well. Music! What kind of music do you like?” Potter suddenly asks. Draco raises an eyebrow. Music. That’s the best Potter can come up with. What a fantastic conversationalist. It’s a shame he’s had to miss out on years of ‘What kind of music do you like?’ He sneers and Potter rolls his eyes again, taking a gulp of his beer like the uncouth beast he is. “Well what do you want to talk about?!” he shouts, his eyebrows disappearing into that unruly mess on the top of his head. 

 

Draco sighs, massaging his temple. What does he want to talk about? Nothing. He doesn’t want to talk about anything with Potter. He doesn’t want to be around Potter. He wants to be at home, watching TV. If he leaves now he might be able to get home in time for Spaced. He looks over at Potter. No. There’s no way he’s going to be able to leave without Perfect Potter telling Malloy. No, what Draco needs is for him to leave first.

“So, who are you fucking at the moment?” He turns a wicked smile to Potter, watching gleefully as his mouth drops open. He looks like a fish. A flushed red fish. “I hear from a very reliable source that the Weaslette is fucking someone else.” Yes. His friend. Which means that Blaise never fucking shuts up about it.

“I… uh. No, we’re not— she’s not— we broke up,” he stutters, his eyes wide and Draco pulls a mock pout.

“Aw. Poor Potter, dumped by his girlfriend,” he whines. Potter runs his hand through his hair and Draco internally calculates whether saying the next thing will get him hexed. Oh well, might as well try. “Oh, well. Rumour has it that she didn’t have the right equipment for you, anyway.” 

“What! No— I mean, yes— I mean… that’s not why— there were lots of— fucking hell, is that what people are saying?” Potter is clearly losing it. Maybe coming here tonight was a good idea. It’s certainly more fun than he thought it would be. Draco leans back on his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and resting one arm on his knee.

“So, is it not true then? You don’t enjoy a nice, fat cock up your arse? Or in your mouth? Don’t like feeling a man come down your throat? Not a fan of licking at a lovely little pucker?” Ooh, careful. Starting to turn himself on. He glances at his pint. He’s drunk more than he thought, and the beer that Abbott sells here is that Goblin imported stuff. Exceedingly strong. He watches as Potter’s hand disappears under the table for a not-so-subtle adjustment. The movement twists something in Draco’s stomach and makes his cock twitch. It’s probably annoyance.

“No… it— um, I am— cock is good,” Potter mumbles and Draco contains the laugh. Cock is, indeed, good. As is flustering the Chosen Twat. Although he is still fucking sitting here. He was supposed to storm out of the pub. Draco glances at his watch. He’s definitely going to miss Spaced if he doesn’t leave soon. He coughs, moving to stand up.

“Anyway, Potter—”

“How you boys doing? Stopped glaring at each other I see,” Abbott sings as she comes and stands next to them. Draco scowls at her and she rolls her eyes amiably, giving him a genuine smile. “You know what you two need? Shots.” She gestures to the bar and ten small shot glasses fly through the air, along with what looks like a bottle of Jägermeister. Potter turns to him, his face finally back to its normal pallor.

“What do you think, Malfoy?” he asks, challenge shining in his eyes. “Or you too scared?” Fucker. Draco takes one of the shots now covering the table, bringing it to his lips and opening his throat. He downs it in one, ignoring the burn and turns a quelling look to Potter. Potter grins widely. “Well. Alright then.”

*****

“You know where I’ve never been? Trafalgar Square! We should go to Trafalgar Square!” Potter shouts up at him. They’re dancing. When did they start dancing? Where did the music come from. Actually, Draco’s never been to Trafalgar Square either. Which is absurd, because he lives so close to it!

“Let’s go!” He shouts back and Potter shoots him a smile that lights up the room like the sun.

*****

“We need to talk about your life choices.” Draco looks pointedly at Potter as the officer who arrested them stands outside with an Auror. Thank fuck he’d sobered up enough on the walk from the pub to Trafalgar Square to think of sending a Patronus to the Auror department when the police had shown up. He’ll probably be in trouble for casting one near a Muggle. Of well. It’s Malloy’s fault anyway. He was the one who partnered him with Potter.

“Right now?” Potter asks, his voice slurred and high.

“You can think of a better time?” Draco raises an eyebrow at him, possibly, and Potter frowns back. They’re in handcuffs. They could probably get out of them with a quick um… what was that spell? The unlocking one. But that would require him remembering the word for it. And also getting his wand from where it’s tucked on his thigh.

“Uh… maybe not when we’re in the back of a police car.” Potter gestures with his head. His glasses are wonky. Draco wants to right them. He can’t stand things that aren’t straight. Apart from him, obviously. And other gay men. And lesbians are ok. Potter is a gay man. Draco looks Potter up and down. He’s quite fit. And he probably has a very nice cock. And from what he’s heard, he does actually like one up his arse. Draco has a cock that could do that. Potter looks at him, and he grins slyly.

“No… no, I think this is the perfect time to talk about it,” he leers and Potter leans forward a little.

“What about you?” he asks and Draco frowns. They aren’t talking about him. He’s not the one who got stuck on top of a fucking great lion. He’s not the one who isn’t getting enough cock. He gets lots of cock, thank you very much. Mainly Muggle cock but, still, with frequency.

“What about me?” he replies and Potter moves his head around.

“I’m not the only one in the back of a police car.” This is true. Draco is also in the back of the fucking police car. Not that he’d done anything. He’d just watched as Harry climbed up on that fucking lion screaming ‘look at me, I’m the Gryffindoriest Gryffindor! I am the ultimate Gryffindor’. Ok, so he may have laughed. And he probably shouted something obscene at the police officer who came to try and get Potter down. But he wasn’t actually arrested. They’ve just put him in here to calm him down. 

“You’re the only one here because they committed a crime,” he points out, and Potter frowns, looking down at Draco’s crotch. Draco doesn’t think he’s actually aware he’s looking right at his cock, but he still shuffles a little. Not to open his legs, to make it more obvious. Not at all.

“Yeah… well…” Potter mumbles and Draco snorts inelegantly. 

“Eloquent.” That’s Potter all over really, ineloquent and uncouth. And brash. And impulsive. And exciting. And maybe a little attractive, now that he’s not being such a perfect little prick. They are in a police car after all. For assaulting a Muggle police officer and everything. What would Dumbledore say?

“Shut up!” Potter grumbles and Draco grins at him.

“I feel like the more you talk, the more you prove my point.” he wiggles his eyebrows at Potter, leaning a little closer so that their heads are nearly touching. Potter smells awful. Like alcohol and sweat. Ok, maybe the sweat isn’t too bad. It’s sort of sweet.

“Fine. I just won’t say anything.” He slumps back in his seat, his head leaning against the headrest. He looks sweet. Sort of younger. Maybe more free than he had at school. If Draco thinks about it, which he tries not to do. Potter did have to go through some awful things at school. Sure, he didn’t have the Dark Lord living in his house, but he was being chased by him. At least Draco could occasionally hide, find a bit of quiet. Potter hadn’t really had that. Not by all accounts, anyway. And he really isn’t that bad. He’s sort of fun. Draco rests his head against his headrest, his hands digging painfully into his back. Next to him Potter huffs. “It’s not like I was hurting anyone.”

“Just yourself,” he points out, unable to stop the smile that creeps across his face. He tilts his head so he can look into Potter’s eyes. Because he likes the way they swirl, not because he actually likes Potter.

“I wasn’t purposefully hurting myself!” Potter objects and Draco snorts. Again. Not a good habit to pick up.

“I don’t think anything about what you were doing was purposeful,” he chuckles and Potter laughs back, his cheek blushing prettily, making his eyes dance more. He shrugs, the movement making Draco look at his shoulders. He does have very nice shoulders.

“People sit up there all the time,” Potter says reasonably, and Draco can’t help but stare at him lips. They’re very nice. A sort of flushed, pink colour. Apparently the head of a cock is the same colour as someone’s lips. The thought makes Draco’s cock give an interested twitch.

 

“I think it was calling the police officer trying to get you down a ‘fucking, wanking killjoy’ that actually got us arrested.” His voice is low, sultry and he can see the way Potter’s eyes drift to his lips when he talks. Can see the way his pupils dilate. Can see the way that his breath hitches. He shuffles slightly closer and Draco moves with him, wanting to be closer to Potter. So that he can hear him better. Potter is a terrible mumbler. 

“Well you could have tried to help…” Potter points out and Draco chuckles again, shaking his head.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He flashes a winning smile, and Potter rolls his eyes, sort of.

“Well we wouldn’t have ended up in a police car!” He vaguely gestures around them and Draco shrugs, a movement he hasn’t ever done in his life. Certainly not in the presence of someone else. Shrugging is so uncouth. He fixes Potter with a hard stare, that is perhaps not as hard as it would have been before the shots, but can’t stop the smiling.

“I think we can all agree we’re in the police car because of your poor life choices.” He wiggles his nose, in what he hopes is a suggestive way. It’s his nose, right? That he is supposed to wiggle suggestively.

“We’re… whatever…” Potter grumbles. He doesn’t move away and Draco thinks that maybe the air in the car has got hotter.

“Alright boys,” the Auror opens the door, undoing the cuffs with one sweep of his wand and standing to the side as Draco and Potter clamber out. “I’ve Obliviated this poor man. You two need to be careful. Go. Home.” And, with that, he Apparates away, leaving them with a very stunned police officer. Draco’s stomach swirls as he turns to look down at Potter.

“So, your place or mine?”

*****

Somewhere around Regent’s Park Potter becomes Harry when he twists his fingers through Draco’s hair and pulls him down into a searing kiss. Draco wraps his arms around Harry, bringing him closer, their hips lining up, erections pressing together through their trousers. He’s sober enough to know that this is madness. He’s sober enough to know that he’s never wanted anything more.

*****

They stumble into his flat in Primrose Hill, their lips still attached, their hands running over each other as they drag clothes off, shucking trousers, tugging at tshirts, kicking off shoes and socks. Teeth clash and tongues run along each other as they messily map each other’s mouths. Draco drags Harry towards his bedroom, because he thinks that Harry will look very nice spread out for him on his red sheets. Hands are back in his hair, messing it up, pulling Draco closer, and he can’t help but hook his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s boxer briefs, detaching his mouth, for a moment, to drag them down and pull off his own.

They stand, completely naked, in the doorway of Draco’s bedroom, staring at each other. Harry is leaner than Draco would have thought, under all those baggy tshirts. He has a soft splattering of hair on his chest, small dark nipples standing hard, and a lovely trail of dark curls that lead to the base of a magnificent looking cock. It’s not quite as big as Draco’s, but Draco knows he has a big cock and is taller than Harry, so it makes sense. Draco is pleased to note that the top is flushed the same pretty pink of Harry’s lips. It curves slightly towards his stomach and Draco’s mouth waters at the pearl of precome on the tip. His eyes roam back up until he’s finally looking into Harry’s.

It’s unclear who moves first. Together, they grab for each other, hands running up sides, cocks pressed between abdomens, sliding together deliciously. Draco spins them, moving closer to the bed as Harry starts to roll his hips, the friction on his cock beautiful. Fuck, he could probably come like this. But no. He wants to fuck Harry. Wants to come in him. If Harry is ok with that.

“I want to fuck you,” Draco mumbles against his lips and Harry moans, tightening his grip on Draco’s hair.

“Yes,” he hisses, stumbling backwards and falling onto the bed, taking Draco with him. “Fuck yes. I want that fat fucking cock in my arse, Draco. I want to feel you filling me up.” Harry pushes against him, his back arching off the bed, his legs wide open, and Draco licks at his throat, his collarbone, his chest. Sucks one of those perfect nipples into his mouth, teases it with his tongue and nips it with his teeth, drawing whimpers and whines from Harry. They’re the prettiest noises he’s ever heard, and he moves his hand to cup Harry’s balls, needing to hear more. Needing to feel Harry lose his mind.

“What else?” he murmurs against skin as he moves closer to that glorious cock. The Chosen fucking Cock. Harry’s legs spread impossibly wider, his feet coming to rest near the beautiful globes of his arse. Fuck, Draco wants to bite them, mark them. No one else is fucking this arse ever again.

“I want you to suck me. I want to… feel your fingers inside of me— fuck me open with your fingers— feel your tongue on me— those magic fingers circling my rim. I want you— fuck— fuck me hard. I want to feel you for a week.” Harry and Draco can’t do anything but give him what he wants.

He whispers a lubrication spell to himself before sucking Harry’s cock into his mouth, feeling the weight of it on his tongue. He circles his hole with one finger and Harry bucks, cock thrusting into his mouth and Draco moans around it. It’s thick and sinewy in his mouth and he can taste the sweet tang of precome. It’s fucking glorious. Harry’s feet come to rest on his shoulders and he starts to move his mouth in earnest, bobbing his head as he sucks and licks and laps at Harry’s cock. He presses one finger into him, sucking as he slides, stroking softly at Harry’s rim with his thumb.

Harry rolls his hips, taking Draco’s finger in deeper, pressing up into his mouth and Draco tries to smile around the cock. He gently presses a second finger in and Harry cries out, fucking himself on his fingers, hands tight in his hair, toes digging into his shoulders. Draco moans, sucking harder as he presses a third finger into the silky heat, needing to stretch him properly, to make it good for Harry. They move together, Harry rocking his hips, fucking himself slowly on Draco’s fingers, Draco bobbing his head, sucking gently, his cheek hollowed out, until he’s satisfied that Harry’s entrance is loose enough to take him.

Pulling off with a pop, Draco grins up at him. Harry’s eyes are wild, his hair a mass of black around his face. His glasses are falling off, his lips red from where he’s been biting his bottom lip. He looks debauched and fucking gorgeous. Draco slides up Harry’s body, taking his legs with him, and presses a soft kiss to his lips as he slips his fingers from his hole. Taking his cock in his hand, rubbing it quickly with more conjured lube, he presses the head to the hole as Harry wraps his arms around Draco’s neck, kissing him deeply. He pushes slowly, his cock popping past the tight ring of muscles, and then stills, letting Harry adjust.

A small nod from Harry tells Draco he can move. He draws out before pressing in a little more. Slowly, he inches in, Harry’s grip around his neck getting tighter until, finally, he’s fully seated in Harry’s passage. They breathe together, Harry’s breath tickling at his lips as Draco waits for him to relax enough that he can move.

“You ok?” he pants and Harry looks up at him with clear eyes.

“Yeah. This is...fuck. It feels incredible. You’re everywhere. I feel so fucking full. Shit, you wanker. Trust it to be you to ruin me for everyone else.” Harry smiles at him and Draco can’t help but kiss him. This is fantastic. Why weren’t they doing this before? Why did they spend so much time arguing? What a fucking waste. Harry’s hands run down his arms and then he pulls back from the kiss. “Draco— I— move— I need to feel you moving.”

Draco almost cries, nodding harshly as he begins to pump his hips, the heat and pressure of Harry’s arse stroking his cock deliciously, bringing him closer to the edge quicker than he ever thought possible. Harry pulls him closer, tongue licking along the shell of his ear and Draco thinks he might just faint from how fucking perfect it fucking is. Harry is so tight around his cock, so slick with sweat against his chest, and Draco doesn’t think he could ever fuck anyone, ever again, without comparing it to this. 

“I want you to fuck me, Draco, hard and fast. I want to feel it burn. I want you to make me scream. Can you do that, Draco? Can you fuck me. Fuck me hard?” Harry starts to whisper into his ear and Draco loses it. He leans up, pressing Harry’s thighs wide with his hands, pounding into him at a punishing speed. Harry cries out, his hand moving to twist in the sheets, his head tilted back as he writhes under Draco, exposing his neck, creamy and strong. And, still, Draco doesn’t stop. He chases his orgasm, spurred on as Harry moans and pants beneath him, arching his back, chanting “more, more, more. Fuck yes. Fuck me, Draco, fuck me.”

Pressure builds in Draco’s cock, his balls tightening, his head going light. He’s so fucking close. He lets go of Harry’s leg to wrap one hand around his cock, pumping it in time to his thrusts. He can tell Harry is close too, can see it in the way his body tenses. Can see in the way that he stops talking, stops making noises, his eyes clenched shut. And then he’s shooting over his chest, over Draco’s hand. Thick, creamy strings of spunk that Draco wants to lick off him. His hole flutters around Draco’s cock and he doesn’t have time to watch Harry coming, because his body is flooded with pleasure, his toes curling, his eyes closing, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he fills Harry with his seed.

He finally collapses, exhausted and spent. Harry taps his back and he rolls off, slipping from Harry’s hole. Harry hisses as he straightens his legs, stretching slightly before Summoning his wand from wherever it is on the floor, and casting a quick cleaning spell over the two of them. Draco smiles at him sleepily and he grins back, shuffling in the bed so that he can pull the duvet over them. Draco’s chest aches with something he can’t be bothered to explore, and he holds his arms out to wrap Harry in a hug as they drift to sleep.

*****

This ends with a fight.

Harry and Draco spend a week arguing with each other about who gets to tell their friends first. In the end it’s Hannah Abbott who gives the game away, casually mentioning to everyone in their two friendship circles who will listen that Harry and Draco were seen in the pub last Friday night, dancing to no music before they left together, holding hands.

They try to explain to their friends that they aren’t defining their relationship.That they aren’t sure where it’s going. That they’re happy with just fucking and chatting and hanging out together. It’s just casual. For the moment.

On their fiftieth wedding anniversary, it’s Hannah Abbott they thank. Her and Trainer Malloy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are seen, read and loved.


End file.
